


Tell Me Lies

by anicula



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 70s fashion magazine au, Drag Queens, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15056834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anicula/pseuds/anicula
Summary: It's 1970 and nothing says a new decade better than a new name, new hair, and a new job in the newest place of them all - New York.





	1. still ain’t found him yet

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr was becoming too stressful so everything's here now, warts and all

He kept his chin tucked into the collar of his coat as he weaved between pedestrians, the bracing cold wind of winter New York whistling past his ears and turning them bright red. He had long given up on his complexion - guaranteed to be beet red should he spend more than half a minute outside in the current weather.

The traffic light turned green just as he rounded the corner and he pushed himself into a light run to make it. A murmur of grumbles rose from the people around him as he maneuvered past them, hopping over a tiny dog too excited for seven in the morning and nearly running over a child in his haste.

“Sorry!” he shouted over his shoulder. The answering glare wasn’t too reassuring but he was too frazzled this morning to agonize over it as he normally would.

He slipped into the lobby of his building with a minute to spare, the warm air blasting making him sweat under his collar by the time he has reached the elevator.

“Morning,” Max said with a raised brow over his cup of coffee as Gio rushed into their office.

“Good morning.” He tried for the best, widest smile he could manage while still heaving from his trek.

Max slid over his cup for Gio to drink, and he did, with much appreciation.

“Late night?” He eyed Gio’s outfit critically. “Don’t tell me you’ve been breaking into the wardrobe again - you know how Susanne gets.”

Gio placed his coffee down and did a little twirl, his heart pounding just slightly harder than it had been on his way up. “Why? Do I look good?”

Max’s eye roll came as anticipated and it eased the knot of worry that had made itself home in Gio’s stomach. “Yes you look good. You look so good Jean Shrimpton would be jealous.”

“You said it, not me girl,” Gio returned as he smoothed a hand down his skirt to get rid of any imaginary wrinkles that had settled into the fabric in the time it had taken for him to do a full turn.

“Well when your head returns to earth Miss Aqua,” Max punctuated with both brows raised, “get your butt down to editing, they have the new edits and Susanne wants them on her desk before she gets in.”

“Of course,” Gio returned magnanimously, his coat still on.

“In about five minutes.” 

“On it,” Gio sneaked a last sip of the coffee before he marched his winter clad self back out the office and down the hall.

The trills of “Morning Aqua!” as he made his way through the racks of clothing littering the hallways were reassuring and he happily answered their calls.

His skirt today was long enough that he wasn't as conscious of his legs as he moved through, though not long enough for him to not have tucked - but they were never long enough for him to risk that. His coworkers were warm and pleasant when they swished past him in the hallways and that was something he would do everything to preserve.

Working for a fashion magazine was about as avant-garde as a job could possibly be, but he still didn't dare risk it. Sure there were homosexuals who were more open than anyone really needed to be about their lives around the office - Max for one and even on occasion, Susanne herself. But it was always very neat and prim.  _Oh is Max gay? Well he’s got a partner and they’ve got a house and a mortgage and weren’t they looking into adopting? Such sweeties._

Gio was well aware his singleness was looked on as being too headstrong and independent, a product of the time they lived in, and  _oh Aqua you would make the most perfect wife, won’t you at least try dinner with him?_  And he was - he was okay with it - as long as it stayed wife and not - husband.

“Aquaria?” The concerned tone of the voice broke Gio out of his reverie.

“Hey Brian,” he replied with a smile. “Sorry, was just totally zoned out.”

“Of course,” Brian shot back with a grin, “If your head wasn’t attach to a neck, it’d totally float away right?” 

“Right,” Gio answered with a small laugh, “Anyways, Max told me there were new edits.” 

“Yup - hot off the press for the Matriarch herself.” Brian slid over the stack. 

“Thank you.” Gio hefted the papers into his arms, teetering just a little in his heels.

He managed to beat Susanne to her office, though he was positive Max was laughing at him by the way Max seemed so hyper-concentrated on his work when he passed their little office area.

 

The rest of his morning was a blur of “Yes Susanne, of course” and “he’s on the phone now” and “I booked the tickets” and pitying looks from Max as he’s on the phone with a flaky photographer trying to explain why he didn't follow instructions because _art_.

By the time lunch had rolled around, Gio was so deep into his correspondences that he only remembered food because Max had placed a salad on top of his head with a clipped, “Eat” before leaving.

Gio dug into it gratefully though Max wasn’t around to see, and when he looked outside his office, he noticed that no one else was around to see either. While lunch was generally a quiet stay-at-your-desk kind of affair, it was usually not so desolate. A slight panic made itself known at the base of his throat and he had to forcibly swallow his mouthful of greens.

_calm down. breathe. in. out._

He tried to do the exercises the doctor had told him to during their last appointment to help quell his near constant anxiety. He focused on going through what was probable and what was not and what would be ridiculous, running through scenarios in his head to help ground himself. What was probable: maybe everyone went out today. Or went home. There was a pizza place down the street most people in the office frequented. It was cold, they could’ve gone for a hot chocolate from downstairs. What was not: secret meetings held just to mock him. Maybe they figured out what he was. What if -

No. Not probable. He has to hold himself to that. He had been so careful and he had not let himself slip once, skipped on sleep just to be fully presentable for work. Secret gatherings like they were all part of a cult that explicitly banned Gio was most definitely on the ridiculous list. Now if only he could convince himself of that.

He spent the rest of lunch picking at his salad, appetite completely gone.


	2. if you give me just one night

The ticking of the clock down to five seemed to never come. The hour hand was moving like molasses, and the afternoon was dragging on despite the mounds of work on his desk. They had one week until print so it was busy but shifting papers from one pile to another and organizing the new clothes that came in took little to no mental effort, particularly with Max so busy with his own office moving to send anything snarky his way about how he really should be labeling the racks better.

In fact he was so caught up in his inner monologue about how he was definitely thinner than some of the models that the agency had been sending their way recently that the notebooks Max dropped on his desk made him jump.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Max asked wryly, the corners of his mouth curved up.

“Working hard. All the time. All the working,” Gio answered primly, shoving the last folder back to where it definitely belonged, under a blue peacoat.

“Right.” Max eyed the stack of half folded clothes on Gio’s desk and the blank bits of paper sticking out in between a pile of scarves.

Gio covered what he could on his desk with his hands,  leaving him hunched over his work like a particularly unattractive bridge dweller. “Can I help you?”

“Well,” Max began, “I was wondering if you wanted to pilfer through my desk for whatever you wanted before I fully surrender it to the powers that be,” he took a breath to look pointedly down at where Gio’s hands were covering what amounted to nothing on his desk, “but if you are too busy auditioning to be a rottweiler, I can come back another time.” 

“No!” Gio’s response came out quick and sharp and he had to pull himself back before he really did become a trigger happy guard dog. He cleared his throat. “I have time now.”

“Good. These notebooks are the only things I need from here,” Max patted the stack that had scared Gio back to reality, “I’ll be back for them tomorrow, but besides these, everything else is yours. Or not yours, whatever you want. Though admin is going to come and comb through everything at the end of the week, so make sure you’re done by then.”

Gio nodded along.

“Questions? Comments? Heartfelt speech about how I was the best super? How I’m going to be a great editor?” Max prompted when Gio stayed silent too long, ruminating in his own thoughts.

“No questions. No comments. Maybe a tiny sentence about how you need to give me time to miss you.”

“Ouch,” Max laid a hand over his chest, “So cold, and here I was thinking we were such bosom pals.”

Gio rolled his eyes and heaved himself up from his hunch. “Your new office is literally two doors down the hall, I will see you every single time I need to go anywhere.”

“Well someone’s gotta keep you in check.” Max sniffed imperviously. “Got to remind you you don’t actually shit gold despite the memo’s that have been sent.”

“Haha. Hilarious. Your witty rapport will be sorely missed,” Gio deadpanned.

“Mark your words youngin, I’m nearly 100% sure Katelyn won’t be anywhere near this entertaining, and then what will you do? Oh right, come crying to my office,” Max returned in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“You wish.” But despite his blithe reply, Gio moved to give Max a parting hug before Max made the long, whole two door, journey back to his new office as the newly minted editor of arts.

The urge to staple Max to his old desk mid hug, though strong, was swift and Gio reluctantly let go and reminded himself that if he had acclimatized to a new city and a new job, he could easily do so with a new office mate.

Max left with a parting, “Don’t miss me too much,” and a pat on the shoulder, leaving Gio to contemplate the mess of a work space Max had left him to hunt through.

 

The end of the day, though long awaited, did arrive - in a burst of red light that coated his office walls and painted half his coworkers crimson. He fended off offers of happy hour and dinner, neatly dodging invitations for the new cabaret show that had just opened in the village, in favour of rushing home and preparing for the night.

The streets were full but he managed to make it home in time to prepare a light dinner before setting himself down in front of the vanity to paint.

Though it never took him too long, he still had to build from scratch, taking off makeup designed to make him look as natural as possible to put on bigger lips, bigger eyes, and bigger hair. The hair was easy enough, but the eyes and lips he had to paint thick enough that no one could guess at the face that laid underneath.

It was a risk. As was everything else he had done since stepping foot into the city a scant half a year ago. A small apartment in East Village. A new name. One so curiously outlandish for someone who was a transplant from the affluent outskirts of Philadelphia. But it had been easy enough to explain away the fancies of a rich disinterested housewife who’s husband was abroad more often than not - particularly to a room full of participants so eager and so accepting of idiosyncrasies.

Gio adjusted the blonde wig he had chosen for the night. It was much, much thicker than his normal hair, though he had to braid his own so that the wig would fit properly.

He had, at first, contemplated committing to fake hair for his new job, but one too many close calls during his time on the west coast made him uneasy and his natural hair had grown fast enough that he had been able to wrangle a nice updo out of it by the time he was offered a position across the country.

The dress he chose for this particular night was a nice pale blue that complemented the extremely heavy eye shadow he had dusted around his brow and had the added benefit of stuffing sewn onto the inside so that every curve was accounted for without extra padding. He did so adore the artificial curves, but it was again, another thing he never did for work. No matter how natural the padding looked while standing still, the effect was always ruined if he moved in any direction a little too fast. As it stood, his slender figure earned him clout in a line of work where Twiggy reigned supreme.

He gave himself one last pat with a puff before leaving the warmth of his apartment.

 

“Hey Lady!” 

The shout caught his attention just as he entered the bar - how he caught it, he had no idea, the patrons were already rowdy though it was a weeknight - but the bright glittery dress ensured his attention stayed caught.

“Evening Miz.” He bent his head down to air kiss her cheeks and give her a hug. 

“Didn’t think you’d make it two nights in a row - you’re always so fastidious about that sleeping thing,” Miz shouted over her shoulder as she towed him through the bar patrons to the backrooms where the night’s performers were getting ready. 

“Well it’s your first official hosting gig,” Gio returned with a shrug, “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“W-o-w,” Miz said slowly, mouth opening comically wide around every letter, “Are we officially friends now? Cause if we are, you’re not getting rid of me ever.” Her eyes held a teasing light. “You can ask Monet, bitch been trying to brush me off for the past year, but no cigar sugar. Once we’re friends - that’s it.”

“Then I guess we’re friends,” Gio said with a finality he felt none of. He did, however, feel a hot red blush coming up his neck and warming his cheeks, and a similar sensation curling around his insides making him feel suspiciously lightheaded. 

“Groovy.” 

How Miz Cracker managed to make everything light hearted and sincere at the same time was always a mystery to Gio but he appreciated it nevertheless. It was quite possibly the only reason he was still here after that first time he had ventured out of the confines of his apartment and almost vomited from fear when a drunk man had gotten a little too handsy. Miz had happened to be on hand, on the way to her home bar, as she called it, and somehow managed to talk the man into a cab while pacifying a completely petrified Gio.

Gio followed Miz around as she twirled her way around the cramp dressing room, full of makeup and wigs and the lovely odor of too many people in a too small space. The others were used to him by now, enough that they didn’t stop to pinch at his cheeks and coo or whistle as he walked by. Instead, he got salutatory butt slaps and air kisses when he tried to dodge all of the girls trying their best to practice performing in a room that was really meant for, at most, three people to turn around in at once.

“Hey Lady G, how you doin’ girl?” Monet’s deep bass broke through the clamour and bustle. 

“Pretty good, pretty good. How are you?” Gio leaned in for a peck. 

“Just about all cooked ma’am.” Monet turned her face this way and that to check her makeup in the mirror and Gio gamely perched to the side so she could fully see herself. “Thanks girl.”

“You’re on first tonight?”

Monet swiped a finger over a lipstick mark on her teeth. Once she deemed herself sufficiently preened, she turned back to Gio. “What’d you say girl?”

Gio stifled a laugh. “Are you performing first tonight?”

“Yessir. Gotta keep them gents entertained so Miz doesn’t completely eat ass her first night out.” 

The laugh could not be contained this time.

“Oh I think she does alright on her own.”

Monet raised a skeptical brow. “That’s cause you white. You think boiled chicken is a real food.”

Gio rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you eat much worst.”

“For money honey,” Monet shot back.

The blush that spread through Gio’s cheeks was unavoidable and rendered Monet speechless in her laughter. “I meant that gross pizza from down the street,” he said, the words slurring together.

“You gotta loosen up - how you even got your lily white ass down here I don’t even-” Monet put her hands up as she curled up laughing even more, holding the frame of the mirror for support.

Gio was saved by the blonde head of Miz popping back into the room shouting: “Monet, get your ass out here.”

He shuffled himself after Monet, not keen on being alone without any of his closer friends to act as buffer and he found himself parked next to the stage, next to Miz when she sat down in between sets.

It was a good vantage point to watch the night’s show with an even better perk of being offered drinks when the barkeep pushed them over to keep the performers hydrated.

The night's festivities were over faster than he could keep his eyes open though he didn’t do much besides sit there and offer the occasional helping hand to the girls as they teetered to and from the stage. Miz, however, still beamed at him at the end of the night as if he had personally helped her play her whole set and chattered nonstop about how great it was that he was able to get out tonight as she shepherded him into a cab and made him write down the time and place of her next gig, saying, “You must come out more - maybe you’ll even start doing a little bit of your own.”

At the frozen smile on Gio’s face, she relented, but not much, “Oh come on, you look better than all the girls out there tonight and then you could also make a little coin on the side - I know that makeup ain’t cheap.” She looked pointedly at the amount of lipstick covering his lips and most of his chin.

“Miz Cracker-” Gio trailed off. 

“Too strong?” She leaned in to pat his cheeks consolingly. “Maybe next time then sugar.” She leaned back a little to fix his collar and continued, “Are you coming out to that theater show this weekend? I heard they’re doing a bastardization of Macbeth - you like that stuff don’t you?”

“Yes,” Gio replied when he finally found his voice again. “It sounds fun and I can actually sleep the morning after so I thought I’d go see Thorgy so she’d stop leaving me passive aggressive notes every time she books you and sees me.”

Miz’s smile was far too wide for her face. “Alright sweets, then I’ll see you soon. Try not to get into any trouble on your way home.” She slammed the taxi door shut with a little wave and Gio was soon speeding away, back to the east side.


	3. he’s studying business

“Aquaria?”

Gio stretched up from his position on the floor to peer over the top of his desk. “Yes?”

Max stared at him blankly, mouth opened in mid thought for an uncomfortable moment. Gio shifted in his hamstring tightening position. 

“Ho-wha-” Max broke off, “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” He waved his hand over the entire mess that had taken up residence on the floor and the completely bare desk. 

“Am I stressing you out?” Gio relaxed back into his seat, presiding over the spread of advertisements on the floor. He nearly had the order that he thought they looked the best in, the dark bold red lipstick ads in between the dreamy romantic shoots for the new spring lines.

“No, I love the redecorating - very zen.” Max managed to look only a little judgmental at the disarray Gio chose to surround himself with. He walked over to the window and peered at the record player. “What music are you trying to convert us to today? Sounds softer than your usual fare.”

“That’s because you have no sense of art,” Gio said loftily. He turned back to the pages in his hand, “That’s the new Simon and Garfunkel album, not that you would be interested. Since they’re not dead and all.” He held up the ad for the lipstick so that Max could see. “Does the colour look weird or is it just me?”

Max leaned forward. “A little. It looks worst cause you’re putting it next to all that pink.” 

Gio leveled a look at him. “Because pink is spring. There is not one single photo from the shoots that are not touched by this awful colour.” 

Max snorted. “Has anyone ever told you that you are very critical for someone who keeps vodka under their desk?”

Gio waved his hand with the sheath of paper around. “Does it go - something something glass houses?” 

Max laughed. “I was being a very helpful guide to office life.”

“And to the paddy wagon.”

“Never said nothing about getting caught.” 

They were interrupted by a short brunette dressed in a suit so stern she couldn’t be from anywhere else but HR. A fact cemented by the distasteful look she shot Gio when she caught sight of his Le Smoking tuxedo. Gio looked back at her dishwater brown suit to the same effect. 

“How may we help you Miss?” Max broke their line of sight by smoothly stepping over the mess littering the floor. 

The second she opened her mouth Gio purposefully turned back to his spread. Whatever she wanted, Max would inevitably get for her or direct her to someone who would. Max was a fantastic office mate that way. Fantastic  _ex_ -office mate. He held in the sigh. 

By the time Max had gotten rid of her, Gio had settled on the order he wanted and had started organizing the folder he wanted Susanne to see. 

“Aqua?”

Gio looked up. “How are you still here?”

Max shot him an exasperated look. “You have a lot of cheek for someone who’s 90 pounds soaking wet.”

“It’s a talent.” 

“Of which you have many, I’m sure,” Max replied dryly. “Anyways, a couple of us are going to the Gaslight after work today. You interested? It’s in the village - right up your alley.”

“And how much post show wine and cheese with everyone we work with, from Susanne to the cleaning lady, am I committing to if I say yes?”

“None, my tiny aquarian child,” Max crossed his arms, “only dinner with Brian and the researchers, then a nice calm evening where you donate money to deserving starving artists.”

“Did you move?” Gio wrinkled his nose. 

“Nope. Still on Sullivan street. Still trying to convince you to get a place with a garden.”

“Maybe when I get promoted to editor and my parents decide to move upstate and leave me their townhouse,” Gio answered flippantly. He stood up and walked around Max to make his way to Susanne’s office to drop off his folder. 

“Is that an invitation to come harass you at five?” Max called out from his position next to Gio’s office. 

Gio turned around for a split second to shoot Max a deadpan look.

 

“That’s not so bad,” Max offered to their table after the last sounds from the banjo faded away. 

“Not so bad?” Kevin leaned forward in his seat. 

And while Gio hated anyone being nearer to him than necessary, he had to wholeheartedly agree with Kevin’s assessment. 

Good would be a nice original song. Not so bad would be a cover of a song done on a well tuned instrument. Bad would be warbling that caused whatever drunk patrons that had accidentally wandered in to jerk awake in their seats and wander back out again. 

A distinctly scratchy, out of pitch voice combined with a banjo that died two weeks ago was. Well. The cafe had managed to halve its population in the five minutes since the Upper West Side looking broad had taken the stage.

“Why don’t we-” Betty trailed off, her hands miming leaving - or at least Gio hoped it was leaving. He didn’t think his head could stand another number without exploding. 

“I think the Tavern’s still open - more food?” Max offered. 

“Yes!” Gio pushed away from the table, standing up. “Food sounds great.” He tried not to make eye contact with the stage as the others got up and collected their things. 

The cafe was musky with smoke and moving through to escape was easier than going in, especially with so many of the people gone. 

The air outside, while not much of an escape from the smoke, was quieter, and the cigarette ash that fell right in front of his eyes as he waited for the others to shrug on their coats was exactly what he expected. The underwear of the lady lounging on the fire escape when he looked up to track the source of the ash, a little less so. 

Gio grimaced, tucking his hair under the collar of his coat. He had left it to hang in waves to counter the straight lines of his outfit, lending itself to a look Max had declared that morning to be, “Woodstock at the Guggenheim.”

He had been unsure of how not feminine the pants would make him look, but they were worth their weight in gold now as he stepped over puddles of an undetermined nature and around street vendors, trying to keep up with Max’s quick pace. 

Kevin, by the sheer nature of his longer legs, had no problems ripping on the broken down poster boards around them while effortlessly keeping up. 

Gio, by the sheer nature of his shorter legs, had problems trying to articulate his thoughts in regards to Kevin’s overt classism. 

“Just because they’re not framed in a stupid hand carved monstrosity, hanging on a giant wall by themselves doesn’t mean it’s not important or contributing to culture.”

Kevin sent him a sidelong glance. “You know I can’t take you seriously with your hair bobbing up and down like that.”

“Kevin, you know that intersectionality doesn’t mean being a sexist pig who also hates poor people right?” Betty broke from her conversation with Jane to turn to Kevin, stopping them short on the sidewalk. 

“How about we save this for the Tavern?” Max was standing on the corner with his hands spread in peace. “It’s cold out Betty.”

The pinched look to Betty’s face didn’t leave but she did let Jane turn her back around to continue on. 

Gio did his best not to laugh at the offended look on Kevin’s face.

“I just meant that your hair’s flying all over the place like a damn poodle.” 

“Tell that to her.” Gio shrugged and slipped through the door that Max was holding open for all of them. 

 

The warm air that enveloped him as soon as he stepped through the door made him shiver. It also made him suddenly very conscious of the silence. The abrupt change from the constant hum of the city with its wailing sirens and street music to the library quietness of Max’s townhouse. The soft padding of Max’s feet as he made his way to the living room sounded obtrusively loud. 

“Music?” he asked, turning to Gio with a record held up.

“Sure.” Gio followed him into the room, taking a slow lap around the room to look at all the new prints Max had up. They were all neatly framed in black, much like the man himself. Neat and prim. Too polished to evoke much emotion. Gio felt the deep need to scribble over all of them with a biro, like an itch that got more irritating the more he thought about it. 

Much like the last time Gio had thoroughly examined Max’s living room, there was a marked absence of anything personal up on the walls. Nothing of Max himself on the mantle. No family or friends decorating the low tables and windowsills. There was, however, an alarming amount of green plants in soft soil, moist when Gio pressed his fingers against the base of the plant to check. Keeping that many living things in a home always seemed ludicrous to him, especially with the amount of travelling their jobs required, though he was happy enough with his own theories on how Max must be keeping some fake ones to entertain himself by verifying their vitality with his own fingers. 

He paused by the stack of records leaning precariously next to a particularly expansive house plant, the sole source of untidiness in an otherwise spotless room. Gio lifted the the records off of their unsteady perch and shifted through them, expecting nothing exciting and finding exactly that. “Do you own anything with a human voice in it?”

“What?” Max walked back in from the kitchen with two steaming mugs. 

“Your fantastically boring music catalogue,” Gio replied. He took the proffered mug before taking a seat on the settee. 

“Well I have whatever nonsense you deigned to give me for my birthday. I’m sure if you shuffle things around, you could find that in there somewhere.” Max blew on his mug, seating himself on the loveseat next to the fireplace. 

Gio eyed the distance between himself and the records, far too wide now that he’d made himself comfy on the settee with the mug warming his cold hands. “I guess suffering makes us stronger,” he offered Max with an upturned nose.

Max only laughed in return. 

The silence from before relapsed, tempered by orchestral strings. Gio had no real reason to follow Max back to his home like a stray looking to be adopted. But dinner had ended much earlier than he’d expected and now here he was, aimless but too tired and too in want of company to make the trek back to his tiny apartment on the other side of the city.

Max, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease with his mug and his fire. His face was more relaxed than Gio had ever seen it, content despite the fine lines of fatigue around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His eyes, when they met Gio’s were a liquid amber in the light of the burning flames. 

“Want a book?”

Gio narrowed his eyes, uneasy at being caught staring. “Why?”

“I can hear that big brain of yours stressing out from over here.” Max slid one of the coffee table paperbacks across the floor. “I would normally say just relax and enjoy the music but you might actually self-combust from the ennui.”

Gio snorted in a manner that would quite possibly get him fired from his job if anyone else from their office were to stop by Max’s right then and there. “I am not stressing. Stop projecting.” 

He picked up the book anyway, leafing through it, happy to have a diversion that wasn’t staring unabashedly at Max’s face while he contemplated the machinations behind that worn out smile. 


	4. darling, I can't stop it

_Children in the Rain_.

Gio squinted up at the sign. It was quite apropos. Light rain had prevailed, all day and all night, for the past week and still it continued, though it was more chips of ice now that the temperature had fallen with the setting sun.

He fixed his headscarf, pulling it forward to cover his eyes from the abrasive weather, and pulled the door open, stepping into the musty interiors of Cherry Lane.

“Lady G!”

Gio looked up from trying to find an umbrella stand to find Miz Cracker walking towards him at her usual chipper pace. 

“Hey girl.” He leaned forward to give her the two kiss salute. “How are you?”

“Better now that your pretty face is here.” She gave him her wonky wink, all comedy. But her too wide smile softened and the creases around her eyes deepened when she took in his look for the night. “But face isn’t all you’re serving tonight.” She held him at arm’s length, turning him in a half circle before letting him go. “Such a good look. Everyone’s gonna be too high to appreciate this - I do wish you would at least try performing a little. You need to be photographed.”

“You offering?” Gio returned with a raised brow. 

“Oh girl, if I had the money you’d be the only thing I photograph.” Her wink this time was a touch too genuine, her smile a little too sharp. 

Gio heard his mouth shut with an audible click.

“But enough with the chit-chat,” Miz said, taking pity on him, “Thorgy still has some setting up she wants us to help with,” and pulled him towards another set of doors.

“Hey girl!” Thorgy waltzed over to them the moment they stepped through the doors, a haze of colour and smoke. “How are you doing Lady? You look so gorgeous!” She gave Gio two loud smacks on each cheek, smudging her lipstick, and holding his hands tight enough to turn them blue.

When she backed up far enough for Gio to see her face, her eyes were bloodshot and her pupils eerily large. He looked past her to see Miz standing off to the side, rolling her eyes at him behind Thorgy’s back while she sorted through the programs.

“I’m doing well,” he said cautiously. Thorgy’s demeanor was more erratic than normal though her hands were moving slower and her walk unbalanced. “Are you doing alright? Nervous?”

“Oh girl,” Thorgy flapped her hands, “you know me - not nervous but you know - not  _not_  nervous. But never mind that - I’m just so glad you could make it! I was just thinking to myself the other morning - oh I hope Lady G could make it she’s never out in daylight and - well. I worry about you, you looking so pale all the time and you know my mother has always said that a little sunlight never hurt nobody - I mean look at me! Still hale and healthy as a horse- despite all that  _stuff_  - y’know that nasty little weasel Ro-”

“Thorgy,” Miz cut in, “I think some of the lighting crew wants to double check with you about -” she trailed off, waving her hand around.

“About?” Thorgy pushed her glasses up into her hair.

“Th-the thing? With the light? The light thing.” Miz pointed to the lights which looked to be perfectly functional. 

“The thing?” Thorgy frowned. Then she lit up. “Oh! T-the - yes! I’m so sorry to abandon you so early sweets,” she patted Gio on the cheek, “but I promise I’ll be back in just a jiffy!” And off she went, trilling orders in the highest octave as she made her way to the running crew.

“The light thing?” Gio mouthed at Miz behind Thorgy’s retreating back.

Miz shrugged. “Got you out of it, didn’t I?” she murmured, keeping her voice low while Thorgy was still in hearing distance. The moment Thorgy was across the room, her voice grew. “Besides, you look as frighten as a deer in the headlights. What’s up with you? You were fine a minute ago.” She bumped their shoulders together companionably. 

Gio spread his hands out. “Not frightened - just. Thorgy seems a bit off doesn’t she? Even more so than the usual?”

“That’s what happens when you start mixing and matching your candy,” Miz said. She handed some of her leaflets to Gio. “You can put those wherever there’s none on any of the seats.”

“What candy?” Gio wrinkled his nose. The black and white print was abrasive even in the low lighting of the theater. He flipped them over.

“Of the joint and pill variety honey,” Miz’s voice turned conspiratorial at the end though her eyes belied her concern. “You  _do_  know what those are right?”

Gio scrapped his bottom lip with his teeth. “I understand the relaxing properties of herbs wrapped in paper,” he said slowly. He brought their heads closer before saying in a hushed voice, “But I thought the pill was for women.”

“Oh honey.” The condescension in Miz’s voice was combated by the kind look in her eyes and the reassurance in her hand cupping his.

It still made Gio itch beneath his skin. He didn’t think he was that much of a country bumpkin. He’d spent enough time in San Francisco to appreciate the nuances of living in a city and San Francisco was as au courant as the next metropolis, maybe even more so in certain matters. And while he could wholeheartedly concur that he was perhaps a step lower than a social recluse in his first year out of his white picket fence town - working had ensured that culture came to him whether he liked it or not. He had counted himself educated at any rate. 

But exploring New York, with all its facets of art and couture and theater, was a constant reminder that he wasn’t as coiffed and worldly as he thought he was, that he was more counterfeit than authentic. An accusation backlit by neon lights outing him as an impostor in a black sequined Halston dress with no real experience beyond the pages of a glossy magazine. He withdrew his hand from Miz’s grip. 

She frowned. “Was that too much?”

Gio caught the  _no_  making its way up his throat. The tightrope between keeping the peace and keeping himself sane was hard to balance on, but Miz offered understanding so freely. He swallowed. “A little.” The words rasped against his dry throat but once out, it was easier to breathe. To be so honest with his feelings was not his forte though he tried his best for Miz, for the first of his friends in the city. “I guess I’m greener than I thought. I just wish I wasn’t and I could absorb all the knowledge in at once y’know?” he said with a lift of his shoulder.

“Girl, I think I just got early on set osteoporosis from that.” Miz’s brown eyes were liquid in the low light around them, the skin around them wrinkled. “But this is from me, an aging broad, to you, a young fresh debutante: you don’t get an award for being a human encyclopedia darling. No one cares if you know everything, they just care if you’re an asshole about learning and,” she leaned in closer like they were exchanging covert missives, “you’re not an asshole.” She tucked his fringe back and smiled at him. “And you weren’t wrong per se, the pill is usually for them biological women, but you know Thorgy - always extra special. She likes the LSD kind.”

“LSD?” Gio leaned forward, his earlier unease settled. While his street lingo was sorely lacking, his knowledge on the drug itself was a bit more comprehensive. He frowned at the bleak harsh lines of the program he held in his hand. And then, he frowned a little harder at the sparse set on stage. 

“This  _is_  Thorgy, we shouldn’t be judging by the cover of this book.” She too was looking at the stage. It was set up for a one man monologue, not a full fledged play and definitely not one with  _certain_  influences. Miz continued, “But if there’s one thing I’ve counted on where Thorgy’s concerned - it’s that we never have to worry about her supply of narcotics or the amount of colour she can pack into the shortest of numbers.”

“Maybe it’ll be like Wonderwall,” Gio offered when all of Thorgy’s flitting around on stage only resulted in lights being turned off. 

 

It was not like Wonderwall.

Gio blinked blearily, unsure if he was relieved that it had ended or terrified that he now had to go and see Thorgy after witnessing  _that_. Miz yawned next to him, a sound echoed by the others sitting around them. Gio himself had accidentally fallen asleep at certain points and woken up with his cheek digging into the floral embellishments on Miz’s shoulder.

“We should go,” he said out loud to no one in particular. 

“For a drink,” Miz pushed herself out of her chair, shaking her skirt and smoothing it out. “Thank heavens for Cherry Lane Bar.” She rummaged around in her clutch, pulling out a tin, “Mint?”

Gio shook his head, pulling his own tin out. “Shouldn’t we go see Thorgy first?”

“After all that, I don’t think she could see anyone even if she wanted to.” Miz waved her hand fruitlessly at the smoke that surrounded them. “And besides, we’ll probably see her at the bar later anyways. Bob’s performing there tonight and you know how she gets about that.”

Gio held in his laugh. It just seemed too mean to laugh, considering that he had just essentially slept through most of his friend duties for the evening. Miz had an all too knowing glint in her eye when she caught sight of his expression, though she only smiled smugly in response and didn’t remark on his lack of one. 

“So you wanna join us for drinks? Or are you too tired?” She asked as she pulled on her coat and did up the buttons.

Gio yawned, unintentionally loud and obvious.

Miz smiled at him wryly. “Is that a no?”

Gio shook his head. “No. I wanna come, I’ll just need to walk a bit to - y’know,” he stretched his neck a bit to each side, “wake up a little.”

Miz’s smile turned into a grin. “Don’t I know it honey. Lucky us, it’ll be nice and freezing outside.”

Gio wrinkled his nose. 

 


	5. my new man left me

The Ansonia Hotel was an imposing building. It loomed over the street with its turrets and Beaux-Arts details and the sharply dressed doorman who looked impassively at Gio as he loitered just to the side of the entrance. There was no judgement in his look, no emotion of any kind at all in fact, a face so smooth all over it was strangely doll like. Gio diverted his gaze and took a deep breath, bracing himself. It would do no good to back out now, not when the others had specifically extended him an invitation. He tucked his chin into his grey peacoat and pulled his hat down, furtive and more than a bit apprehensive.

He had brought his bathing suit with him, or more specifically, he had brought a bathing suit he had just bought with him. Bob had been very strict in his instructions despite his inebriation when he was extending the invitation - Gio was to be in a bathing suit or a towel or nothing at all. Gio chose the bathing suit. It was burning a hole at his side now, folded neatly within the most nondescript leather bag Gio could find in his wardrobe. The men entering around him had theirs barely concealed in their coats pockets, already in the process of disrobing in the wide open corridors of the hotel.

As he ventured deeper into the cavernous edifice, he found himself adrift in the hustle and bustle of a large staircase. It was a spectacular grand thing opening up to the endless blue of the sky above with all of its occupants paying it no mind, their eyes trained on the ground and their feet moving with well practiced ease towards the basement. He took a moment to dawdle at the stairs, admiring the sheer largess and vibrancy of the polished surfaces, so completely unlike his tiny apartment that it was hard to imagine anyone living in such opulence. It took several rude men pushing past him to bring him back to the situation at hand. It took several more, nicer gentlemen to direct him to where he was supposed to be. Once he was near the entrance to the basement, well, the steam clinging uncomfortably to his skin was unmistakable and it served to be a guide of its own. 

The changing room was loud and busy, men cracking jokes and whipping their towels around to hit unsuspecting targets. Gio edged his way around the fray and shoved himself into the emptiest corner of the room. He had tucked all of his hair into his hat before leaving his place to avoid any potential curious onlookers and now, now his hands were just shaking ever so slightly as he pulled his hair down. He had shed his jacket and trousers and everything that he could before it looked strange that he had yet to remove his hat, and it was more obvious than ever that he was biologically male, no mistake about any of it - but. But it didn’t stop the tremor in his fingers as he brushed out his locks. Long hair wasn’t unusual when he dared to peek around the room. Perhaps his was a touch longer. A touch wavier. An unnatural curl to them that suggested that maybe it had been in curlers not too long ago. His nails dug into the meat of his palm. The breaths he took in were sticky with heat and filled up his lungs with no oxygen at all. He pulled on his bathing shorts as fast as he could, face to the wall, and tucked his locker key into his pocket when he was done. He edged out of the rambunctious room the same way he entered - with an absolute, visceral desire to not be noticed in any shape or form by all these strangers so keen on intimacy or at least, the facsimile of it. Either way, he counted himself lucky to be unmolested on his quest out of the room and in his search for the right room. 

The halls of the basement were just as open and wide as the main floor though the sheer amount of people within them made it claustrophobic in spite of size. Gio kept near the walls and darted between doors, peeking into several rooms and being able to pinpoint nobody that he knew in any of them. The panic rose with each room he checked, each as steamy and tropical as the one before and none of them playing host to a group of people as wildly diverse as the Cherry Lane Bar performers. 

The last turn of the hall brought him into an unexpected room, mostly taken up by a stage with a piano on top and a few rows of chairs in front of it. There were however, enough people loitering around the chairs that he was able to observe from the back without much fanfare, the audience so fixated on the woman singing that he didn’t even get any protests to him pushing through the crowd.

When he found a good vantage point to survey the room, he pressed himself up against the wall in an effort to balance on his toes and get a better view. The lady singing had moved on to a bastardized version of Chattanooga Choo-Choo of her own making, according to her claims. She was a thin, svelte woman with more hair than head and a voice too energetic by far for a place of relaxation. 

The audience cheered like they’d never heard anything better. 

Gio dodged their enthusiastic hand waves, trying to suss out the people around him, squinting to see if any faces seemed familiar, devoid of makeup as everyone was.

It was to no avail. 

The people around him were either too white or too short or not short enough. Gio had just enough wherewithal within him to not stomp on the ground and to make the conscious choice to at least enjoy this one act before going to the change rooms and calling it quits for the day. 

The lady singing had just started her rendition of Empty Bed Blues when Gio caught sight of the people sitting in the chairs. They were hard to make out from his spot but they proved to be more food for thought than his standing cohort when they turned to talk to each other during the performance. Their appearance, unremarkable from the back, was distinctly more varied than most of the crowd when he caught a glimpse of their profiles - what with their lack of brows and alarming amount of forehead. 

He let out a sigh of relief and started to make his way towards them, nearly certain he had finally found his friends. Dodging around the enthusiastic crowd was no mean feat and he found himself accidentally dancing as he moved through. 

The group moved in and out of his sight and he was close enough to call out to them when he caught sight of - 

Well. 

He came to a sudden stop and was shoved aside by an aggressive hip swinger. 

The awfully familiar head of brown hair disappeared from sight. 

He felt his breath get caught in his throat, his limbs suddenly heavy like lead. He was maneuvered back to the wall through the sheer impatience of the people dancing and cheering around him. The warbling lady sounded much further away than she had a scant second ago. 

Gio tucked his chin down again, his hands shaking when he shoved them into his pockets. It took another, much shorter moment for him to come to a conclusion. 

He had to go - go somewhere. 

Away. 


End file.
